Soul of the Shattered
by Leider Hosen
Summary: Time is convoluted. Death is temporary. Reality and physics are bent. And yet, in the infinite realms, some cases are so peculiar there is no way to set things to normal once again...
1. Accidents

A/N: Still heavily infatuated with my novel, and I got really sick the past few days so I'm not thinking straight, but since it came to me so clearly, I thought I'd write it down before it was lost. It's primarily a "what if" AU scenario born of playing good ol' derk soos too. May or may not update, though a full story is coming together, but as with my other works, which are updating as fast as glaciers grinding across the frozen earth, I'll add to it as I get strong enough ideas and the energy to put them down.

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><p>A curious thing, the flame. Even as she sought the tranquility of the dark, Umbri could not help but to stare into the flames, images, fractured memories, seeming to drift in and out of focus, as with most undead. It came as no surprise she would be haunted, as she'd left a wake of undead behind her wide and deep.<p>

It was hard at first, but as time went on, she discovered how easy it really was to manipulate them into fulfilling her desires. Whether it be with her Souls, her powers, her body…

In the end, they always submitted to her will, and in the end, they would join the dead, their souls becoming her strength. Alas, they had no way to know the true significance of their sacrifice, as they had no way to know what it was she sought after. The Dark. A dark so absolute that even the flames flickering before her, tying the lives of the undead to the endless cycle, would turn the red of falling stars and darken. So deep, that she would be enclosed, and defended from the fickle fire which had denied her death so many times, promising only pain upon pain, and find the power to reshape this broken, decayed world into the dark age of man promised so long ago in the ancient text, but foolishly wasted on prolonging the inevitable decay of the world.

But, this dark would not be achieved by simply snuffing out a few bonfires or learning a few antiqued spells, no, she would need power immeasurable, and a guide to take her to the true seat of Darkness. And even then, she was far from becoming a monarch. A monarch was absolutely without equal, so that her power would demolish all obstacles before her, the survivors left to obey, or be cut down.

That was her path, the only path she could imagine, that would grant peace to the world, which seemed ready to change at every moment.

As she drifted off, musing, the cool, damp air slowly creeping through the trees and whistling through the deeper parts of the ruins, she wondered who she would encounter first. One held a soul of the ineffable, a unique, ancient power that would take her closer to the dark, though they were surrounded by numerous deadly servants, not one undead (at least of this particular realm) having reached them so far.

The other was a sage, one of the few left who knew the true meaning of the dark, and how to harness it, who survived the inquisition Vendrick foolishly incited to try and eliminate the dark arts. Grandahl.

They were both highly valuable to her cause, but the sage was highly reclusive, and the one with the great soul was too far away, and too heavily guarded to go after. So, she had spent the last few days sweeping the ancient ruins, where he was said to dwell. Getting to the ruins alive was a feat in itself, the woods below shrouded by a deep, colorless fog, which left she and the party who'd helped her along completely lost, vulnerable to the invisible spirits within, who killed them off, one by one.

Of course, Umbri used her flame to illuminate the way, making a clean exit while the final wave of phantoms were distracted by the other undead, their souls finding their way to her as she scaled the mossy, decayed steps to the foot of the old city, certain by the time they returned to this point, she would be safely away from them, as to escape any notions of "righteous fury". She laughed to herself at that, the sound echoing in the desolate ruins.

There was an abundance of items still strewn about, but no sign of any encampments, Umbri having to construct a bonfire for herself, leading her to believe she was among the first here. It gave her hope Grandahl would be undisturbed somewhere, but at the same time, the ruins went on for miles, endless rows of decayed, collapsed buildings covered with vines and moss, condensation soaking everything, with sheets of deep, ominous fog sweeping in without warning, her flames barely parting it, often stranding her, and without her eyesight to cast with, it left her highly vulnerable.

Despite her persistence, she had yet to find any signs of him, Umbri deciding she'd rested long enough, working to her feet and yawning tiredly, feeling sick at her dependence on the burning bones at her feet to keep her healed and energized, soothing her hunger and thirst as the food and water started getting low.

When she became a monarch of the dark, she wouldn't have to worry, which only renewed her determination as she mentally took note of the items on her person, to defend herself. Her clothes were all black, a deep, moody color brought on by the ink she managed to boil and soak the fabric within, a hood helping to shield her from the rain and weather, all her armor shrouded by a long, heavy leather cloak to help protect her from the wind and the chill of some of the colder regions, like this, since it was wet and nearing the fall, even undead getting sick, as long as they were in human form.

Her underclothes consisted of similar traveler's wear: a few steel plates protecting her joints under pressure and strain, with strong machetes and boots for vaulting obstacles and walking through undesirable terrain, with a final dense sheet of wool with a few iron plates sewn in protecting her chest, though even she made sure the added defense didn't diminish her allure, still hoping to find some more… fitting armor in the future.

Finally, she carefully chose her weapons, though she hadn't managed to find any arcane weapons in her traveling, unwilling to risk engaging an undead powerful enough to own them. One was a simple, short wooden staff, imbued with the power to channel her souls into rays of light, piercing her enemies, while her sidearm, in case she ran low on energy, was a mundane but versatile longsword, etched with a few layers of titanite to give it an extra bite, though she didn't like to stand too close to her opponents, if she could help it. Her final, and at the moment, strongest weapon was not on her person though, but within her, a powerful, divine flame she'd fed with her enemies, that she could call out at any moment.

She knew these were unacceptable vestments, for a monarch, but she would find more fitting equipment in the future, so long as she remained patient.

And so she left, heading into the ruins one more.

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><p>Gods, he was handsome.<p>

The figure stood several paces away, but as a caster, she had sharpened her eyes with practice, tracking distance, speed, and direction with impeccable accuracy. These creatures seemed to despise being looked at, always on guard as they prowled the ruins, one never far from the others.

She could make out the elegant, sleek brown mane wreathing their heads, roughly human, but clearly feline with a blunt, wide snout full of sharpened teeth and deep set, gold eyes, their frame proportionally top-heavy, with massive, rolling muscles and incredible grace as they leapt over the crumbling stone walls and scaled the leaning, mossy towers with fog breaking over them on the upper ramparts, showing themselves off with tattered, primal wear barely maintaining their modesty, though their weapons and heavy wooden shields looked to be well-made and taken care off.

They were clearly male, to her delight, yet it confused her she hadn't seen any females or even an encampment, deciding it must be a ways off, hidden from view. In which case, this was merely their hunting ground, and she was the prey.

While she would love to see how one of the beastly, proud figures felt with their nasty weapons gone, they violently attacked on sight as far as she saw, and they were currently, if unintentionally, barring her path to Grandahl. She finally stepped into the open, from the shadows of a ruined wall, the clansmen turning towards her before he even had his eyes focused, as the wind at her back and the scent carried to his flaring nostrils had already alerted him to her presence.

He bore his teeth at her, glowering through his eyes, as much as his body language, putting up his great axe, which had to be nearly as heavy as the budding monarch's entire armor set and weapons combined. The clansmen, afterall, towered over her, though he was keeping his distance, throwing his head up and roaring, the frightful sound echoing over the lonely ramparts, alerting everything in the area of her presence.

She cursed under her breath. Before, they would simply retreat from her, or go into a bloodrage and try to tackle her to the ground, always dying long before they reached her. But, they were starting to travel in tighter groups, cry out upon seeing her. They were a lot smarter than she credited them with, even if they didn't know a beautiful woman when they saw her they obviously had an advanced means of communication, adapting quickly to new enemies. No matter…

She drew her staff from her side, raising it up and focusing on the clansmen as he roared again, this time at her, raising his hackles as a sign of warning, brandishing his axe. She drew it close to her chest, focusing on her own spirit and pouring it into the tip of her staff, her palm growing hot, thrusting it out just as he charged-

There was a bang, her entire body feeling jolted as the mass burst from her palm, going to the tip of the staff and breaking out, shooting through the air as a fast, hornet-like bullet-

She gasped as the leonine man jumped aside on his powerful, reveres jointed legs, the bolt soaring harmlessly over his shoulder, his pace increasing as she brought the staff back to her chest, focusing on gathering another bolt.

This was the first time they anticipated her attack, and evaded rather than idiotically trying to block, her heart-rate shooting up as he closed the distance, the monarch shooting for the center of his chest, as it made for a larger target, the clansmen again ducking aside, letting it pass by harmlessly this time using his momentum to swing for her with his axe.

She crouched and leapt away, panting as the great weapon passed near enough for her to _feel _it on the air, tumbling onto her feet and leaping back a pace, bringing her empty hand up and focusing her power to the palm. Where there was only empty air, there was an arc of power, a flame suddenly igniting, swelling up in her palm and filling her palm with heat, the clansmen suddenly hesitant.

His dew soaked, long fur was highly flammable, as she found out, and like the proud beasts they were, they did not like to burn. She focused on the flame in her hand, her fingers trembling with the effort as they pressed in on the strong pocket of pressure growing in her palm, the flame erupting into a great orb, which she let go off, the explosive force driving it from her hand as she lobbed it towards the leonine, the clansmen evading and running in on her, bearing his axe as she accumulated another bolt of power.

He swerved aside as she unleashed it, but she had caught him off guard with a move he didn't see coming, drawing her hand aside and rather than unleashing the flame as an orb, released it as a slow, steady burn, a stream of fire hissing in the wet air and torching her opponent just as he landed on his feet. There was as hiss of steam, the clansmen crying out and reeling away from her as the fur over his torso lit up, filling the air with a deep, acrid smell, which Umbri found surprising pleasant, though he looked a little less attractive with his fur turned to charcoal.

She gathered more flame, dispelling it as he cowardly turned and ran away, fleeing her like some of the others. Umbri laughed at humbling the lion, bringing up her staff and shooting a long, heavy bolt towards him, though he started to weave erratically, evading the attack by a wide margin.

Well, at least they learned how to run away better than they did before.

Umbri gave chase, feeling exhilarated as he vanished around the bend, the mage spotting a narrow path she could head him off with, adjusting her coarse so that she was nearly brushing the paled, musty bricks on the building by her, working the dense air in and out with speed, emerging just ahead of him and seeing him skid to a halt, a deep, throaty sound that made her tingle a little escaping him as Umbri raised her flame-

Pain tore through her leg, Umbri crying out and collapsing, looking down to the limb. A massive javelin, the bladed, serrated tip glistening with blood, had torn through her calf, right through the tendons. She looked to the bushes by her, seeing a clansmen rise with a cluster of hunting spears on his back, readying a second and throwing it with great force, Umbri leaping forward to evade it, crying again as the spear through her leg bit further into her.

She launched a bolt of fire towards it, the clansmen ducking aside, only for three more heads to emerge, a massive pounding sending Umbri's head over her shoulder, where two more had dropped off the wall, hitting behind her, axes ready, sending her limping away, pain shooting up her hurt leg as tried to balance on her other, only for a second spear to ram through, this time at the knee, buckling it and sending her to the ground, the limb folding around the spear, her leg cracking as she felt her kneecap tear out, her scream echoing as that deep, throaty sound came again, this time from all of them.

She saw the two behind her, the one ahead, the spearmen, humiliation pouring over her as she crawled away, looking for a spot to hide, though she'd placed herself in a large, open pavilion. They lured her into an ambush, they _counted_ on her to pursue the injured lion- his cry wasn't a call for help, it was a signal to get into position, and wait for her to come to them, to cripple and surround her.

Now, they were laughing, Umbri seeing the three warriors pulled back, following at a distance as she crawled along on her hands. Is she could just find a place, she could-

A spear lanced her side, Umbri gritting her teeth and trying to hide the pain as she bled out. She needed to pull the spears out before she could even think about using the Estus at her side, otherwise the wounds would seal the blades inside her, but if she pulled them…

An immense force gripped her by the back of the head, Umbri weeping as she was pulled off the ground, long, angular claws wrapping around her head and driving in while her legs dangled under her, the spears inflaming the pain as they swung around. She could feel the clansmen's hot, rough breath breaking on the back of her neck as her hood fell, her neck straining as her feet struggled to find the ground under her, though the arm that held her aloft held far more strength than her body.

Her catalyst was batted from her grip, her hand flaring with fire-

She would burn then, all of-

The breath at her neck stopped as she felt jaws on her neck, her heart stopping as they clamped down, crushing the side and sending a splash of blood over his snout and down her neck, her flame extinguishing as she rapidly lost strength and consciousness, only partly feeling herself get smashed into the ground, the three clansmen blotting her vision as they stomped her brutally, hunching down to rake their claws down her, Umbri barely gathering the breath to scream as the mauling went on.

As she passed, she was flipped around and grabbed by the throat, feeling herself go weightless as she was pulled into the air, Umbri peaking her eyes open and noticing how tall he was, how he towered over the others with deep, golden mane and bright eyes, though the gold was starting to dull as deep, silver hairs started to grow in. The eldest, the others standing back and watching as he gingerly (albeit with his massive, firm hands with claws that'd shredded so many they had become covered with nicks and scratches) tore open her traveling ware, reaching into her concealed holster and taking out her Estus.

He dug the top of his thumb into her gullet, forcing her head back, Umbri choking and drowning as he poured the fiery golden liquid down her throat, his thumb driving down on her gullet everytime she tried to close her mouth, Estus flowing down her front and soaking her. Her wounds closed, the blood mingling with the golden Estus evaporating off her as the flask emptied, completely wasted, the clansmen baying and throwing it out of her vision, though she heard the marked shatter of jade on stone nearby.

When she healed, the spears fixed in her legs by molten flesh pressing in on them, the eldest just held her suspended, letting her gaze into his bestial eyes a minute. He was not dull and savage, he was too lucid, rather, there was a very deliberate, conscious cruelty within him, sharpened by decades of brutal combat and focused only by his hatred of her.

This man grasping her by the throat, holding her life in his hands, was a real monarch. Before she could fantasize, she was spiked into the ground, Umbri crying out as her shoulder cracked, working away, his foot dropping on her stomach to pin her as he grabbed her spears, looking her in the eye as he tore them out with one smooth, strong movement, pain completely driving the thoughts form her head as the pears tore her legs open, long strings of tendon and muscle pulled out by the barbs, the final lance in her side getting its own strong twist before he pulled that too, ripping the organs, grabbing her by the leg and throwing her to the other clansmen, giving a roar of approval.

They tore back into her, the shallow, rough cuts layering on themselves as they abandoned their axes, and teeth, just bleeding her, Umbri just continuing to cry out, her strength fading as her skin went tender, her flame occasionally flaring, only to be extinguished by her own blood. She would grab her Estus, but the elder already knew, the rare flask lying in shattered pieces by the fortress a ways away.

Somehow she jumped from the melee, the elder grabbing her by the head and flipping her over his shoulder, nearly breaking her neck as he vaulted her through the air, tumbling a ways before dropping to the ground, Umbri watching the clansmen approach her bleeding, broken form, her legs hurting so bad she couldn't even hope to move them.

She looked aside, for something, anything, when she saw she was in fact lying on a covering of wooden planks and boards, likely the roof of some underground mine or disposal pit, exposed by age. She crawled to the hole, dropping through into the gloom, away from the lion men.

She tumbled through the air, hitting the ground hard after a few minutes, her arm giving a crack as it snapped, hitting in an off place. She panted on the ground, in a daze, in so much pain it left her literally bewildered as to what to focus on, wishing she had her Estus. If she could just heal, she could come back, get the drop on _him_.

A series a scuffling sounds started around her, Umbri trying to lean up and see what it was as they begun to shift around her, closing in. In her full state, she would not be so afraid, but she was completely disarmed, even her longsword has been taken down, and her clothes were completely shredded and torn off, leaving her no protection.

The figures begun to take shape around her, emerging into the faint rays of light through the ceiling: long, toad-like lizards with bright red underbellies, tar black, rumpled skin, and two massive, bulbous pods that may have been eyes, though she saw that just below them was a diminutive, angular head with short, pointy teeth, two beady eyes gazing back at her. And there were a lot of them.

Too her horror, she realized these were no ordinary creatures, they were basilisk. She tried to crawl, but the pain in her legs was so immense she almost instantly passed out, hovering on the edge of focus as they bloated up, as though to burst, before unleashing massive, noxious clouds around her.

She tried to hold her breath, but was so weak, she couldn't help herself, breathing deep in the strong, ashy fog, a feeling similar to death closing in on her as her body went numb, first at the extremities, then over her whole body, her organs paralyzing as she gasped for breath, her blood creasing to pump as it turned a morbid, ashen grey torn flesh, her skin growing shiny as it stiffened, reshaped, her eyes rolling into her head-

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><p>Umbri awoke at the bonfire with a start, the flames as unkind as ever. Returning from death was a brutal experience, it left you with all of the pain and agony upon death, the trauma of having your body destroyed and held it, suspending you in a state of immense physical and mental trauma, returning to the fires anywhere from minutes to weeks, sealing you there as your form slowly healed in the void, getting pieced together a little bit at a time with the dying energy of the flame, until finally you appeared, just got birthed from the fires like a very unkind, sadistic mother, stark naked and as weak and vulnerable as one could never hope to be.<p>

Umbri tried to shake it off as she stood, only to crouch back down and reach into the fires, searching through the void for her spare armor and equipment, plus another Estus Flask. The whole time, she gazed at her arm, now an unnatural shade of grey-brown and sagging slightly, her muscles slightly receded. She hadn't hollowed in a single death, but the violence of the death and her petrification had drained a great deal of power from her.

Worse, as she drew the items she wanted and flickered her fingers, she saw a pathetic little spark, but no great flame, as she had before, and even with a catalyst, she could tell the soul rays were completely dead.

Sorceries. Miracles. Pyromancies. The Dark. They took energy, energy of a very special, very strong kind. With all of her souls locked in her petrified body where she died, her powers had evaporated. She supposed the that was the lion monarch's intent: he knew she was an undead, he knew she was vulnerable without souls, and he knew she would return, so the focus was not to merely kill her, but brutalize her so horrifically she would never forget it.

Well, she wouldn't. And when she became a monarch, she would show them what it means to suffer, though she may need to please herself some first.

She went back through the shaded ruins, unsure of how long it'd been, but being very careful to evade detection, rather than farm the clansmen for souls as she had before, finding the grove she'd died in and gathering several shards of her old flask, so the muse in Majula could pass its power to her new one.

When she at last followed the trail of her blood to the opening of the chasm, she looked around, slowly repelling down on a length of rope, alert for the basilisks, feeling her newly formed blood go cold. They were dead. Every last one of the lizards had been sliced apart and thrown to the walls, a door she hadn't noticed before opened, the occupant now missing.

She lit a torch, looking around. It had to be here. Even with someone having come in behind her, it had to be here. She checked around, looked in the nest of basilisks, to the drag marks along the ground.

Her body was gone, missing. Umbri felt herself fill with a combination of shock and rage. You never allow yourself to be petrified in the first place, but if you do, you drain the souls and lifeforce from the redundant body and move along, as you would any death.

She strode along the corridor, huffing and feeling her heart race as she skirted pools of acid, lighting the way. There was an immense level of power in that body, beyond mere souls, there was a great deal of energy stored in the flesh, bones, and blood itself. She had done things, vicious, sensual, unspeakable things wearing that skin, and the idea someone was running around with it, carrying a piece of her very identity like a mere topiary.

Without it, she could not cast her magic, a part of her forever taken from her. This was incomprehensible. Such a thing was incomprehensible!

Umbri made it to the end of the passage, looking about, and finding nothing in the darkness, save for a hole in the caves, leading outside. With her very being trembling, she looked out, seeing the unmistakable flicker of a bonfire across the gorge, a makeshift bridge between here and there, and no sign of any undead.

If that was true, than they already warped away. They could be anywhere, anywhere in all of Drangleic, and if Umbri hadn't been there herself, there was no way to get there without traveling on foot first, putting an unimaginable distance between her and her body.

She felt the rage building up on her, all the things, for nothing now, finally boiling over and screaming into the lonely ruins, stomping her feet on the ground and feeling as though she could just take her fingers and rip herself apart.

Her tantrum was disrupted buy a new presence by her, the undead pausing, looking towards the figure now emerging from the darkness, into her vision, Umbri stepping towards him, the torchlight beginning to reflect of a set of onyx obelisks around a runed, dark platform. The keeper of the ritual site was wheelchair bound, his wheels grinding on the sediment as he ambled himself along, a red blanket spread over him to protect from the cold, a raggy, greyed beard rolling down his chest all the way to his navel, his ancient, insidious face and knobby, thin fingers the only thing she could see of him, the rest obscured by his dusty, worn robes, black as a new moon.

If Umbri saw an undead so feeble as this, she would just dispatch them then, before they could gather whatever companions they could to keep them protected despite the fact their time is clearly over.

But- he wasn't weak, just very, _very _old- even standing this far from him, she could _feel _the force of his presence resonating in the air, an immense, borderline unstable energy flowing from him in rivers, unlike anything she'd even brushed with, and she had seen undead fighting beings far more daunting than he, at least on the outside.

"Grandahl…" she more breathed than spoke, the sage sending shivers down her spine, smiling calmly.

"Young undead," he greeted in a faint, but fatherly voice, "Do you seek the dark?" For a moment, Umbri forgot she'd been graverobbed, striding to the covenant leader and giving a curtsey.

"Yes," she spoke, though her throat was sore with hollowing and shouting, "I've been looking everywhere for you, have you seen my body?"

"Hmm," she felt slightly unnerved as he less looked _at _her and more looked _into_ her, seeming to read her soul (or what was left of it) even without her being dead, "_Still a bit too alive… but with a darkish shadow…_" He murmured, Umbri reeling a little,

"What do you mean?"

"Young undead," Grandahl spoke, "you were ambitious to find me, but I'm afraid you're still not ready for a _deeper _dark." Umbri grit her teeth, feeling the onset of tears. She'd committed unspeakable acts of pleasure and pain, to harden her mind, to find the one who could take her powers even further beyond. And he just threw her away.

"Do you have any idea what I've done to get here!" Umbri snapped, "Is that really all you can say!?"

"Hmm." Grandahl closed his eyes, contemplating, though it was more to focus something as unfathomable as his thoughts into words rather than being at a loss for them, "You mistake power and corruption for the Dark, when that is only a narrow excerpt of what the Dark truly means. You must deepen the Dark within you before you hope to see the Chasm of Old, and embrace the true power of the Abyss." Umbri was silenced, the sage leaning upright and continuing, "Young Undead, if the dark is truly what you seek, than we shall surely meet again." He wheeled himself back, receding into the ritual site, "Recover the dark you lost, when you fell prey to your arrogance. Seek the Abyss, and you shall find it."

There was a flash of violet light, an incomprehensible level of power pouring forth, the sage vanishing into the rift, before everything went still again, leaving Umbri alone. She went to the pit in the wall, seeing the little bonfire continuing to hum, feebly reaching out for souls and undead to feed it in the darkening world.

Grandahl was right. She wanted depravity and bloodshed, she wanted power and dominance, but she was much too small, her _ideas_ were much too small. To be a monarch worthy of the age of dark, she would need to become power incarnate, far more than simply dealing death, she would need subjects, soldiers, and weapons, and Dark. More dark than even she knew, right now.

But, the first, achievable goal she needed to fill would be recovering her powers, and punishing those who stole them…

* * *

><p>Cold. That was the first thing that came to mind. Just cold, a shiver down her spine, her eyes squinting on her pale, clammy face, before feeling the hard, dead wood pressing on her back. She tried to change her position, but as she did, it only woke up the rest of her body, which immediately grew sore and lethargic. She pulled the coat closer to her body, feeling her bare breasts rubbing on the rough, worn fabric.<p>

As she awoke, she became aware of another thing… noise. Nothing but a high, low jitter that seemed to go back and forth across the room, her eyes struggling to open and focus, trying to… connect meanings to the sounds, which, from some deep recess, begun to come together, though she didn't know where- each sound being connected to a thing, until they began to form thoughts-

"…is it, Bridgette?" a biting voice drew out, "I told you we shouldn't have moved her until we knew she wasn't undead. Whoever owned that body before is going to be pissed if we don't bring it to them."

"She doesn't even have a Darksign, Vance." Another snapped back, "What do you want me to do, throw her into the shaded ruins, let whoever-may-wander kill her for souls? She's human. If she dies, she can't come back!"

"I fail to see how that's my problem," Vance growled back, "You have no idea what kind of person she was, or is for that matter. You _insisted_ we bring her back, you _insisted_ we keep her away from Majula and take her here until we know she's not being hunted by other undead, but oh, the moment reality starts to sink in you want to shut everything out so you can keep your little pet unruffled."

"She's not a pet, Vance!" Bridgette barked, somewhat desperately, "You know what happens to humans when they don't have any special talents to offer, and did you see her wounds? She wouldn't last an hour unattended, but we still need to finish clearing the upper levels."

"Yeah, something you insisted on until you heard there was an arcane blacksmith, then you wanted _that _until you found her, then you wanted the blacksmith _and _her, you're so busy flitting around attending to your wants you can't get what has to be done, done. In fact the only smart thing you've _done_ is thaw that wizard, and even he seems pretty sketchy."

"Shut up Vance!" Bridgette shouted, a faint sob in her Voice. The girl closed her eyes tight, trying to blot out the hostility, before peaking her eyes open and finally getting a look at the room. It was a dismal, grey little room, with rusty, dark cells along one wall, a bonfire flickering in one of them. The floorboards were musty and waterlogged, falling apart under her, parts of the ceiling already caved, letting in the fresh scent of the ocean.

The light was grey and melancholy, cast through a set of high windows along the wall, a full moon illuminating the partly cloudy skies. There were three around her, her eyes wondering person to person.

One of them was pacing around, the movement catching her eyes. She held a great, round shield with several pits around the rim, a brassy grey color near green in the moonlight with a silver stripe around the rim, the edge so sharp it seemed more like a saw than a plate, the rest of her clad in lightweight leathers with a bandolier of knifes, long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, a long, shining spear in hand with a few glowing, brilliant gold medals set along a chain necklace.

She strode past a redhead lounging against the wall, his bright red cloak over the girl, leaving him with a thick leather cuirass with a massive iron breastplate, his arms and legs coated in thick studded leather, the blade of a near unbelievably great sword as long as his body, shining silver with etched disks, on his back.

Her gaze wondered from the two, spotting a third crouched over her, staring intently with dark, sad eyes, her complexion pale and melancholy with scattered freckles, a bow and several arrows stowed on her back with a long, curved blade at her side. The girl and the one watching her suddenly met eyes, the archer drawing herself from the floor with a mangle of black, frizzy hair:

"She's awake!" she called, her voice falling flat as she sat back down, Vance lazily looking towards the two form the wall, while Bridgette came over in a motion near attacking, the girl cringing,

"You are?" Bridgette snapped, crouching down and sending the girl retreating a little, the spearmen backing away slightly,

"Don't be afraid," she offered gently, lowering her voice dramatically as a set of feet came up the steps making a hollow tap, the girl seeing a figure rise out of the floor from the staircase.

Her wore jet black clothes over his entire body, his face obscured by a hood, a golden masquerade piece concealing his dark eyes and most of his face, though she could make out a rough, black bread and tanned, red skin. Her eyes seemed drawn to what he carried though: a long, obsidian staff topped with a brilliant azure jewel, which seemed to radiate magic power as he strode over, a condescending, amused look crossing his face:

"Ah, awake are we?" he laughed, "Very good, though I wasn't too worried, afterall, I was petrified for centuries, and my glory didn't diminish in the slightest. Although," he offered, a more curious note coming through, "A coma is a rare thing to see these days, let alone one lasting two weeks after reanimation. I was certain you would not survive such a state, especially fatally wounded, but alas even the great Straid hasn't seen everything there is." He laughed again, Bridgette giving him a sour look, before turning back,

"What's your name?" The girl blinked, a whimper rising in her throat, trying to mouth the words, but nothing came, and even if it did…

She tried to look back into her memories, at who she was, rather than the information slowly bubbling forward. There was only nothingness, a blank, empty slate devoid of anything she could comprehend, or find.

She begun to panic, realizing she couldn't understand where she was, what she was? Undead? Human? Darksign? Souls? Majula? Nothing made sense, her mind beginning to spiral as she realized how adrift she was.

The silent girl helped hold her, her dainty, gentle hands calming her slightly, though she was still incredibly lost.

"I appears the girl's body has healed, but her memories have not." Straid offered, a curious, analytical look bleeding through his Cheshire smile, "It appears the immense damage to her body, both before petrification and the time sitting inert afterward have done a lot of damage to her mind. It will be hard to tell what she can remember and what is lost." He wondered aloud, Bridgette looking furious with him, but unable to lash out.

All conversation halted. It was as though the world had stopped, every one of the undead going rigid and alert. It took her a moment to feel it, but a deep, dark tremor rumbled through the world, as though it were an earthquake, yet the bastille stayed still, the rumble only present as energy.

But, there was no mistake: the girl suddenly felt more anxious and vulnerable, like a massive disturbance had rattled her to the core, and striped off her already nonexistent protection. The undead drew their weapons, Straid raising his staff and setting the tip aglow with arcane power, Bridgette getting her spear poised to strike behind her shield, the silent girl drawing an arrow back in her bow and easing away.

"Great, just what we needed." Vance growled, an eerie calm over him as he stepped off the wall and let his incredible blade drop to the ground, swinging it back over his shoulder and holding it still enough as not to cut him, like the blade weighed nothing.

They all eased away from the set of stairs, prepared to strike the instant the unseen threat climbed up after them, the girl huddling up under the rogue cape, trying to hide, noticing Bridgette place herself before her in defense.

"We can't let her die!" she snapped, "She's not even armed!"

"I don't think any of us want to die," Vance mumbled without humor, standing with his blade casually slung over his shoulder, "Just relax and stay on guard. They'll get here eventually."

The feeling of intense uneasiness grew larger and larger, threatening to strangle the girl, until at last a blue light illuminated the steps, a figure emerging, seeming to glide like a wraith, the undead giving a sigh of relief and lowering their guard as she came into focus.

She was, for lack of a better term, transcendent. She was cast in a deep, mellow blue hue, as though she wasn't fully focused, swathes of burning silver emanating from her. She was of high royalty, donning a bleached surcoat over silver chainmail with elegant silver plates protecting the shoulders and breast, her hands and feet shielded by fantastically ornamented silver gauntlets and boots, a plain, yet noble silver crown upon her head.

Even her weapon boasted pride and sheer power, a shining claymore radiating spiritual power with various engravings past the black guard level at her side, her shield an ebony black splashed with a grand silver emblem, now obscured in places by the innumerable honors and metals ascribed to her.

"Alexander," Vance greeted, offering a smile for the first time, "I see you finally became a monarch, now that you've reached the top of your precious brotherhood."

"I became a monarch long before I became the greatest swordsmen in my realm." She replied in a cold, deep monotone, seeming at the very worst annoyed by their presence, "Despite what my advisors say, I refuse to sit idly upon my throne, while strife prevails in the realms around my own. Fortunately for you, Vance, I am here for only one sinner."

"You know this woman?" Straid asked, almost daring him to answer. Vance sighed,

"Yeah. We knew eachother _very _well for a long time, but I'm clean now. Renounced my ways, absolved my sins, seen the light and all that other pseudo-righteous bullshit." He growled, "That, and Charlotte insists on wearing that ring of hers to call for help whenever one of my former friends decides to stop by, and for some reason her world is still close to mine." He added, the freckled girl from before now nervously spinning a small, bright blue ring around her finger.

"Quite." Alexander nodded curtly, sheathing her blade and drawing a heavy, silver chime with a dragon grip from her side. She gave it a strong shake, mumbling several lines of arcane text, the words seeming to blur together in some otherworld language, until it burst into a diamond shaped eye.

It shot across the room, hovering right over the girls head, marking her, vanishing as her eyes widened and the hunted feeling she had grew exponentially, Bridgette stepping in her path a little further.

The queen curled her lip.

"Umbri Bandersnatch in the living flesh, it's unfortunate I already hold the highest rank, as you would earn me several." She drew her claymore, Bridgette snapping:

"She's not even undead!" she cried, "Or remember her own name!"

"That's impossible." Alexander barked, "I was drawn into this world by her foul presence, her sin is incomprehensible in its extent and nature, the filth she mired herself within stains her body and mind as pestilence, and she has a long way to go before she reaches the peak of her power. There is no mistake."

"She doesn't have a Darksign, lady," Vance added to spite her, "I don't care how glorious your powers are, you can't lie to your own eyes."

Alexander sheathed her sword one more, marching forth, Bridgette holding her ground, the white queen narrowing her gaze:

"Opposing the fulfillment of an Arbiter's duty is a high crime, even for a Valorous Warrior of Sunlight. If you do not stand aside, you will be cut down with her, and none of you separate or together have the strength to oppose me." The girl curled at the way she said it. It was not made as an idle threat or attempt at intimidation, it was said as a matter of fact. Even if they all stood together, even if they all tried to kill her, none of them would survive the encounter; she was too experienced and too immense in power.

Bridgette gulped, standing aside and allowing the Arbiter to pass, the white queen looming over her. Without a thought, the queen tore the red cloak from the sinner, leaving her naked, before pulling her to her feet, her silver gauntlets leaving indents as she was pulled every which way, forced into every position, before the queen threw her hands off,

"Impossible." She snapped, "We expunge the sins of the sinners by slaying them, stripping them of their ill-gotten souls to pay for the crime, so they may return a degree less filthy in there next life. An Arbiter would never harm a mere human, deny them of life forever, this woman _must_ be undead if my presence was called here."

"I told ya', Alex." Vance bit, "She's not undead and your powers are wrong. If she had a ring to conceal her sign, that would be one thing, but she has no sign. If she was undead before, she isn't now. She has broken from the cycle, human." The white queen gulped, the sinner hugging the cape to her naked chest again and watching Alexander freeze, as though the purity of her actions and laws were so clear, so precise and without any flaw, that when an exception rose she found it impossible to process the situation.

She blinked, as though her infinitely perfect mind has discovered the root of the problem:

"Was she petrified?"

"Yes, we woke her up two weeks ago, she's been in a coma until a few minutes ago." The queen nodded,

"Then it all makes sense. It's very rare that it happens, but, when an undead is petrified, they leave their body and resurrect at the bonfire, restoring their souls from their previous body, rendering it little more than decoration, if they choose not to destroy it outright."

"Let me guess," Vance called, looking towards Bridgette, "Sometimes, people find petrified undead, resuscitate them, and leave the previous owner wondering whatever happened to it while the old body lies there, a living doll."

"Precisely," the white queen nodded, frowning, "But, while arbiters have encountered cases like this before, the body has never awoken. In fact, we believed such a thing _couldn't_ happen, as the fundamental essence of who they are goes to the bonfire, the redundant body turning human, as the Darksign passes to the new vessel. If the petrified body is thawed, it may retain lifeforce and souls, but the mind would be very, very dead, even if the body retained it's vital functions at all. This… this is beyond me…" She mumbled, at a loss and clearly not proud of it. Vance smirked,

"Well, what are you going to do now? The real Umbri is out there somewhere, and she isn't it." The white queen straightened up, regaining her control,

"Indeed. She has Umbri's body, but her mind is blank, and has no connection to who she was prior, but," She bayed, "Human or not, the taint of her sins will follow her, and there are Arbiters rightfully, infinitely less merciful than I. If you wish to shelter her, you must be prepared to face the consequences." Bridget nodded,

"We'll train her to fight, she'll follow us everywhere we go. I'll make sure she stays out of trouble, and absolve her." Alexander frowned,

"Absolution is no idle ritual, you realize? The cost on the body is immense, and precious few are capable of performing such a rite. And let us not forgot, this woman is fortunate to comprehend language, let alone handle even the simplest tasks. You would be marked as her guardians: you will be bound to her protection and wellbeing until hollowing or her death, and, if an Arbiter seeks her death without realizing the mistake, you will responsible: for protecting her life, for surrendering it, or for doing battle with the Blue Sentinels."

"We'll do it." Bridgette bit as Vance opened his mouth, the white queen nodding,

"Very well, now," she drew a black, obsidian crystal from her side, twisting it so the light reflected from the edges, blindingly bright, "I have much to discus with Lord Targray, make no mistake, we will be watching you with great interest to see how this little… accident, turns out." The rift opened again, this time the disturbance receding, the phantom knight fading into the ether once more.

"You do realize that, at the very least," Vance said, "We have adopted a hardened sinner, with no way to defend herself, or even function in a group, that will likely draw every Arbiter of every world right to her. And oh yeah, those self-righteous marauders will likely kill her _and _all of us without a second thought because we have agreed to defend her from them, and if we _break_ that oath to get them of our back, that will be, in itself, a sin."

"Shut up Vance!" Bridgette snapped, pacing, "Just let me think."

"That's the problem, is you don't think, you just _do _and not very well, at that." As they started arguing, the shy girl, Charlotte, knelt by her, giving the sinner some semblance of comfort.

"Welcome to the family," she smiled, turning red at the cheeks, "If you don't have a name, would you mind if we just named you?" The sinner blinked, her throat defying all attempts at speech, before she just gave a pleading expression, Charlotte nodding,

"You were called Umbri. It's to eclipse and darken, what you think about… Aura. It's to brighten and give light, I think it's pretty." The sides of the sinner's cheeks wobbled, before she finally managed a smile of her own, summoning her energy.

"Au-ra."

* * *

><p>Just because people go "rage why can I not figure out what that is!":<p>

Umbri: Can be taken as imported or wanderer armor, only black. Basic catalyst, basic longsword, Pyromancy Flame.

Aura: Deprived

Vance: Drangleic Set, Pursuer's Ultra Greatsword

Bridget: Hard leather Armor, Sunlight Medals, Ruin Sentinel Shield, Spear, Throwing Knives

Charlotte: Black Mage Robes, Longbow, Iron Arrows, Scimitar.

Straid of Olaphis: Staff of Wisdom, Black Set

Queen Alexander: King's Crown, Throne Watcher Armor, Loyce Gauntlets and Leggings, Ruler's Sword, King's Shield, Dragon Chime.


	2. Bound in Blood

And now for another chapter of this snap-fic…

* * *

><p>The ocean was beautiful. No matter how long Aura looked at it, she couldn't get past how the sea, going on further than she could even imagine, seemed the shine brightly under the moonlight, the rays dancing over the surface in speckled sheets as the waves crashed on the shoreline, sending up a low roar all the time, mist crawling up the face of the cliffs.<p>

She could see nearly the entire bastille from here, up high on the outer wall, which kept the immense fortress, once the capital of some kingdom named "Alken", defended from the wilderness and invading ships on the great island nation, just off the coast from Drangleic. It was ancient, and incredibly sturdy, even after all this time, the pale, slightly mossy walls so far off the ground the undead walking below seemed like ants.

She heard this was once a prison for the undead, that they were forced here, tortured, and eventually abandoned, when the lord of the bastille sailed away to new lands, its inhabitants left to rot, lorded over by several divisions of soldiers and multiple inhuman abominations.

Bridgette told her they had laid siege to the castle for nearly a month now, and were confident almost all the guards and soldiers were finally dispatched, especially now that the arch magus Straid had been released, allowing them to establish a strong foothold in the fort, turn it into a refuge for the undead and bring some life and light into the ruined castle while they searched for a being with a "Great Soul".

Aura wondered if there would ever be an end to the pain: every fight seemed to open the way to a new, bloodier fight, and according to Vance, this was one of the calmer regions in the land.

It had been only a rough week since she woke up, humiliation biting her as she realized just how helpless she was very quickly. Straid sensed magic within her, and was slowly drawing it out, but she was utterly useless at melee combat.

Beyond that, cooking, cleaning, teamwork, scouting, tracking, everything an undead would need to keep themselves alive in this world, which she was told was overwhelmingly dangerous even in the most civilized places, she was oblivious to. The other undead, save for Bridgette and Charlotte, and Straid, a fellow, albeit snobbish, human, seemed to sense this weakness in her, giving her unwelcome, hostile looks from the corners of their eye.

She clutched her chest, now properly clothed in some thick wool robes to ward of the frigid air, brought on by the late autumn, which seemed to bring with it endless night and cold. As Vance explained, skilled blacksmiths who could equip her with proper armor were rare, and she didn't need it until she begun to engage in combat anyway.

She had lost her Darksign. From what she heard, it was a terrible curse that induced painful death, yet, without it, she was very dead to the undead. They were openly, deeply venomous and hostile though she couldn't understand why, and she knew that they viewed her humanity as a weakness. Transcending hollowing was their dream, but to be human, thus have only one life to live, in a world where death so common…

Aura felt tears start to flow as she stood over the banister to the ancient fortress. Maybe it was a mistake to come back.

She was an undead turned human, a vessel of life made to be harvested by her true self, probably out there, somewhere. She should not be alive, and all her presence seemed to do was burden the others, as, unlike the undead, she could no longer live off bonfires and Estus, but food and water, a few times a day everyday. She had to stay clean to avoid getting sick, stop her training to relieve herself wherever she could find. She had to sleep at least ten hours a day, as the stress on her was so great being recently returned. Even the most human undead could live off only a fraction what she did.

Sometimes, she felt so fragile she felt she could just step off this ledge or hit herself with a stone, or slit her throat, or even just stand still without eating or drinking, and she would just fall over and die, right there. Disturbingly, she felt she wanted to some evenings, and she had barely lived a life. Bridgette told her not to indulge such thoughts, and that she just needed to get established… but how could she, being newly born in this life.

"Hey." She snapped out of it, flipping around and looking to Vance, who was now striding along the wall with speed, a dulled longsword in one hand and a worn, heavily damaged shield lashed to the other, the azure metal exuding pride and authority as he angled it to her to block possible ranged attacks, refusing to use his Ultra Greatsword in a mock battle.

Aura lifted her own sword, gripping it tightly in her two hands and trying to get her feet placed right. That was his way. He never lined up on her and gave her ample time to start. He let her stand there, get relaxed, then attacked without warning, causing terror to rend her heart, yet at the same time, he assured her that it was all preparing her for when a true invader attacked.

Being able to fight at a range with magic was good, but leaning on elementary knowledge of close-range combat and counting on magic to carry you was a death sentence, so he said.

He struck hard, Aura reeling and trying not to let the sword get knocked from her hands, as it had time and time again, the undead bouncing off her guard and leaving her hands sore with effort, the undead stepping back and promptly putting his weight behind his shield, driving forward.

She tried to place her feet right, throwing her shoulder forward and feeling the metal drive into the bone as he crashed against her, driving her back. She tried her hardest to stand against him, but Vance was far more sturdy from his battles and held the strength of a Manticore in his blood, her feet skidding over the rough ground as he pressed forward, his feet barely slowing-

Aura sore under the pressure, until she remembered what he told her about fighting opponents with more strength than her, the petite fighter twisting herself around and letting him fall past her, taking the pressure off, yelping when he immediately caught his footing, twisting around and whipping his blade towards her-

She raised her guard partly, her blade getting knocked aside and nearly sending it from her hands, Vance stepping into the next step and whipping his blade back around, Aura desperately leaping back and feeling the blunted steel scrape her stomach. It would be too shallow to wound her, so the swordsmen continued forward, Aura trying to tighten her grip again as he drove her back under his relentless set of strikes, less trying to get through and more trying to break her guard, something he told her to strengthen.

Her wrists were inflamed with pain, her shoulders aching as her pressed down on her, Aura jumping back a step and letting his blade miss her, leaving him open. The young fighter brought her own blade back over her shoulder, driving down, his feet changing position-

His shield intercepted her blade, leading the blade safely to the side as he stepped in and executed the thrust he drew back, the tip digging into her hip at an off angle, Aura feeling a welt and staggering back his blade coming to the side, lining up one clean sweep to the side of the neck, his arm guiding the edge of the blunted blade with so much force it made her head go numb when he drove down, Aura grasping the side of her neck and falling back.

Vance stowed his longsword, sighing in frustration.

"You just lost your head," He bayed, as though letting herself die was a crime, "And even if you'd jumped back, there was no way to avoid that riposte, which, if my aim is right, would have gone through your heart and lung. You could _possibly _have retreated and healed, but anyone with a semblance of experience would make sure to keep the pressure on, forcing you into a position where your injury would bleed you out before you could get to safety." She nodded, crossing his arms, "Remember, Reds are used to fighting multiple-on-one, and undead that can rapidly heal with Estus, while they can't. _You_ can only heal with miracles, which take ages to cast and count on your opponent being brain-dead to miss. One stab to the head while you're caught healing, and you're dead."

Aura nodded, speech still near impossible for her, ashamed she'd been beaten just as hard as all the other times. Vance continued:

"Your movements have to be tighter, much tighter as not to alert the enemy what you will do, and you have to be a lot lighter on your feet. Unless you're carrying a Greatshield with a Chloranthy Ring, all your blocking will do is wear you down, and make you an easy target, and you can't trade damage, because your healing is so restricted. I told you, you have to roll _with_ the attacks, instead of stand against them. And if you come up on an attack you're not confident with parrying, you need to distance yourself. Control the spacing of the battle, and you can take advantage your magic without being vulnerable to a counter attack."

"I'll try." Aura offered weakly, her small, airy voice still foreign to her. It was hard to believe she had barely heard her own voice before, but there were many things she was not used to.

The world stopped. The unmistakable ripple of the world's being crossed resounding through the land, sending tremors up Aura's spine, Vance stiffening and reaching to Aura, demanding her sharpened sword, discarding his dull one.

She passed it off, Vance swinging the weapon a few times to get a feel for it, eyes alert as the distortion continued, looking out for the invader.

"Which covenant?" He asked, Aura blinking, Vance giving his irritated sigh and repeating: "Which covenant does that signature belong to?" The petite fighter blushed as she understood what he was asking. Every covenant, every type of phantom, had its own, very distinct aura when they invaded, the nature of their presence determining the feel of the distortion. She had felt the terror and hopelessness of being hunted down by the ruthless, noble-to-a-fault Blue Sentinels, but Vance taught her many more, as determining their capabilities and intent could save her life.

This one felt strange: it was malevolent, but not wholly evil, seeming targeted at her in particular, though there was no particular ill-will against her. It seemed to seek her destruction, yet there was a note of playfulness, arousing her own will to fight, to see who was the stronger of the two, the idea of cutting into the invader and driving him back filling her with a sick feeling of glee.

"It's the Brotherhood of Blood." Aura murmured, Vance nodding in half-approval,

"Yes it is, you may be useless, but at least you catch on fast, now what are his strengths and weaknesses?"

"Um…" Aura fought to remember, feeling the stress on her as the invader closed in, drawn towards his target, prepared for battle, "They are hardened fighters. They have a great deal of experience fighting other undead, and even monsters, with white signs. They crave battle, they love bloodshed and violence. They are not always bad… but… they fight with everything they have when they arrive, and don't stop until they, or their target, are destroyed."

"Yes, what else? How do you kill a Brother of Blood?" Aura felt her heart skipping around,

"Though you shouldn't, you can heal when they are injured. And they always fight alone, even with other Brothers around, they don't usually work together unless they have to. The rest of it… comes down to battle experience and skill."

"That's exactly right." Vance nodded, motioning down the wall, to a tunnel in the cliff that lead to the piers where the boats docked, "Stand back, you're going to learn how to win fight between undead firsthand."

Aura followed his gaze, over to the stark, blood-red phantom that had finally caught sight of them. He put his hand to his head, sending off some sort of playful wave, Vance waving back.

"That's right, we're right here." Aura stood back a bit, the Brother of Blood sprinting down the way, glancing back and forth, as though to pick up any undead that may be waiting in ambush for him. He had a dark, furry hat over his head, a few feathers trailing down, with some sort of wicked monocle with crosshairs over his right eye, his body cloaked in some form of lavish coat with magic scrolls in a few knapsacks, all radiating magic power.

His offhand weapon looked to be a diminutive, wicked little Sai with a thin, jabbing blade and a forked guard, his dominant weapon a long, vicious ivory rapier lined with bloodstained barbs, the entire weapon coated in a dense violet energy that radiated an ill feeling.

Vance's calm demeanor shifted as he raised his shield more, something that told Aura the duelist was formidable enough to concern him, something that instantly unnerved her. The duelist stopped short, offering his greeting in a cheerful, almost psychotic voice:

"Two on one today?"

"Just me." Vance returned, "She's human, so Bridgette'll have my ass if I let her die." He laughed,

"Human, huh?" He shrugged, "Sorry, but she's my target. That's her fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I'm just doing my job."

"Figured as much." Vance sighed, "But you can deal with me first."

"Fair enough." The duelist shrugged, blue flames of magic gliding down his darkened blade, "Let's see what you've got, stranger." Vance put a hand to his chest, dropping a knee and bowing, the duelist returning the gesture, before they leapt back and started forward, Aura feeling her heart skip as the battle broke out:

The duelist rolled forward, tumbling over the ground at lightning speeds and lunging forward as he rolled upright, his rapier biting into Vance's antiqued shield with a surprising amount of force, the red-headed warrior grunting as the dark energy soaked through the shield and bit at his arm, Vance returning with a swing of his sword, the duelist leaping back out of reach, letting the longsword pass him before lunging with his rapier, striking Vance's shoulder and sending a spark of dark through his shoulder, tearing off part of his armor as the barbs tore back out.

Vance rammed his shield into the duelist, staggering him back and going for a strike with his longsword, the blade nearly scraping him, before the fork of the duelist's diminutive knife caught the blade, pulling it over his head and aside, stepping in and lunging with Vance trapped in his own swing-

The rapier tore into his shoulder, this time with enough momentum to run it through, Aura gagging as she watched the rows of barbed spines break through one by one, before the duelist put a boot on Vance's stomach and tore the blade out as he pulled himself back, blood pouring as the rough spines tore out layer after layer of muscle and tendon, dropping Vance to the ground and leaving a pit in his shoulder, his longsword dropping.

The duelist went to finish him off with a stab to the head, Vance throwing his shield forward and angling it to push the blade aside, the duelist falling forward, but kneeing him in the chest and dropping him to the ground before Vance could take advantage, the red-head recovering when he grabbed the rogue's leg and pulled him from his feet with his superior strength, sending them both to the ground.

Vance rolled aside, getting on his feet and reaching for his Estus, the duelist rolling upright and bringing his rapier back, the red-head starting to drink, when he noticed how strange it was for the Duelist to be standing so far back when he was clearly healing, squinting to gaze through his monocle-crosshairs and bringing his rapier back as it flashed blue-

Vance took one quick gulp, throwing himself aside mere millimeters from the arch of powerful energy launched from the tip of the weapon, taking another quick sip as the duelist enwreathed his blade with power and ran in.

The warrior swerved aside as the rapier-wielder stabbed past him, the duelist throwing his blade out to parry, but Vance stayed his fist, the duelist angling for another strike, getting knocked from his feet as Vance rammed his open stomach with the edge of his shield, sending him to the ground-

His rapier flashed, a bolt of power going right through his heart, the sound of sizzling flesh and muscle filling the chill air as Vance clutched his chest and coughed blood. But, the Estus in his system kept him on his feet as he reached down and took another large gulp, the flask nearly three-quarters gone. The duelist hunched up and flipped to his feet, a smirk over his face as Vance healed, another arc of power crossing his rapier.

"You're almost out, a few more wounds and you'll be wide open, friend." The calm that always seemed to be on Vance dispelled. It was clear to Aura, crying at a loss for how to help the warrior, the only thing between her and that Brother of Blood, that even with the ability to heal, Vance was massively outclassed by the invading Duelist.

Vance put his guard up, moving for his sword, the Brother of Blood sending a precision bolt across the wall, hitting the stone near the weapon and knocking it away, more distance than Vance could cover without exposing his back or simply moving slow enough to be closed in on.

Aura breathed heavily, cowering behind the wall and watching the duelist close in, starting at a run, Vance turning his back and running for the sword, the lighter fighter closing in and leaping into the air higher than Aura could believe. The duelist landed on Vance, driving his blade down into the back of his shoulders, the wicked blade making a ting as it struck the back of his breastplate and tackled him to the ground.

The Brother of Blood gave a cruel grin, twisting his rapier in the wound, the barbs tearing holes through the organs and muscles, Vance losing the ability to resist crying out and finally letting up a screech, the duelist laughing and finally tearing the rapier out, muscles and tendons once more coming out with the barbs.

He let up a sigh of contentment, drawing his rapier back and channeling the great arcane power into the tip once more, aiming point blank at the back of his head.

"Heal this." Aura panted, standing up and running for the duelist. She couldn't take care of herself, maybe, but… he said the greatest weakness a red phantom had was fighting alone. She let up a pained yowl, grabbing the longsword and diving for the duelist, who looked from Vance to her.

If she could not save him, she was dead.

The Brother of Blood shifted course, flipping his rapier around as she went to tackle him, a blinding flash leaving his rapier as she drove her shoulder into him, toppling him to the ground. Vance getting up and using the last of his estus.

Aura peaked her eyes open, her longsword embedded in the duelist's sternum, his breath stopping, though he held on, grinning.

"I guess we both lose, if I die before you." Aura didn't know what he was talking about, until she felt a numb come over her, looking down in a daze, detached from herself. The rapier was hilt-deep in her stomach, the dark and magic energies pouring into her skin, a massive black disk of burned flesh all the way through her, and slowly growing.

She felt a hand at the back of her neck, pulling her off with a harsh jerk, the rapier pulling out of her. The duelist glanced up as Vance drew the sword from him, plunging it back down, into his head. The disturbance left, the phantom crumbling into the ether and disappearing, a flow of souls going into the two, a warm feeling passing into her from the foggy mist.

Aura panted, feeling relief it was over, yet, cold, even more than usual…

"You stupid tit!" Vance snapped, "I told you you can't heal your injuries like we can, especially from a weapon that deadly!" Aura tried to form an "I'm sorry", but suddenly she felt too weak to speak, feeling blood pouring down her back and legs, a space in her stomach where there was no feeling, where a pit had literally opened up from the mystic weapon.

Her breath drew short, a clatter of metal on the ground near her, before she was lifted, hugged against his chest with two strong arms around her back. She felt as though she could sleep, until she was shaken violently, her glassy eyes opening slightly, focusing on the night sky as he stopped shaking her and started off, the world sweeping by fast.

Each time she blinked, it felt as though several minutes passed, each time flashing to a new place, her senses gone, as though in a dream.

At last, entered a fairly familiar, loud room:

"Vance, what are you- _oh my gods!_" Bridgette's voice snapped, breaking as Vance laid her down, "What did you do?!"

"Heal her." He replied monotonously, Bridgette appearing over her,

"How-"

"Heal her, before the shock kills her." Aura could barely breathe, he focus drifting, before Bridgette laid down her shield and weapon, drawing a three-pronged bell from her side, shaking it and murmuring several lines of arcane text at once, a ringing and shaking a heavy curtain of golden light from it, the particles gravitating to Aura and soaking into her skin.

She felt warmth spread through her, her breathing strengthening as she was enclosed in a great, golden rune with starburst orange radiating from it,

"Bountiful Sunlight." Bridgette's prayer concluded, Aura feeling her wound begin to mend and restore itself, her entire body feeling hot as she evaded death, for then. She still felt exhausted, lying on the floor resting, roused from sleep as the two begun to shout again:

"What happened to her, you were just training!"

"You think I did this, sweetheart?" Vance growled, "We were training, but she was invaded by a Brother of Blood, you may have felt that faintly, right?"

"Why did you let him attack her! She- do you realize how close to death she was!"

"Yes, I've fought undead before, remember? I didn't let him do anything, he overwhelmed me, and in the end she jumped into the fight herself in my defense. He hit her with a dark-infused notched rapier, and that was the end of it."

"Why did you fight him in the first place!" she shouted, tears streaming down her face, "He could have killed her, if you had that much time in advance, why didn't you retreat for help? You-"

"…"

"You challenged him back, didn't you? You chose to stand and fight him!" There was a pause.

"What do you want me to say? Aura's a fast learner, but describing things to her, trying to walk her through things without her ever seeing them-"

"You bastard!" she shouted, her fist hitting his armor, "This isn't the arena! You're not a Brother of Blood anymore, you can't just challenge people to fight because it suits you."

"You're not listening." He replied calmly, "I challenged him because I wanted Aura to see a fight between undead firsthand. We can't be there for her every minute of every day. Trying to train her without any actual combat experience is not only stupid, but it's dangerous. You never know what you'll do or how you act when it's a real fight, when lives are on the line. I killed people twice as combat ready as her, you know why? Because when I bore down on them, the first thing they did was run for their allies, all they could do is backpedal away and call for help, but it never came because by the time it did I had already split their skulls." He snapped, "I know what an invader would do to her, because I've been there on the other side, and me and my brothers and sisters did way worse than simply _kill_ some of our victims. You're right, I'm not a Sunlight Warrior, or an Arbiter, I'm a Brother of Blood, I will always be a Brother of Blood, even without the title. You want to train her to fight in units of three or more in jolly-cooperation and companionship, you go right ahead, but if you want to teach her to stand on her own two feet, fight with her own strength and survive by the strength of her own will when everyone else has fallen, I'll train her _my_ way."

Everything was quiet after that, Aura again getting picked up, this time by far more delicate, more gentle hands, Charlotte carrying her away unsteadily, the small warrior passing out to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>What a delightfully miserable place<em>, Umbri thought to herself, somehow without irony as she strode down the long, rickety bridge to her destination. The entire region was nestled into a great set of canyons, a fathoms deep gorge between every great plateau, connected by a set of aged bridges. The place radiated dark, the sky an overcast, sickly green, as though all the misdeeds of the past had left a permanent taint on the land.

The land itself was shrouded with trees and copses of all variety, a heavy canopy set over the land, darkening the paths and offering uncountable ambush points, several arbiters and many hollows taking advantage of said fact, although the latter and Umbri both had to watch out for the looming, hollowed abominations wandering the wastes, seeming to charge form the darkness slicing all before them apart with reckless abandon.

Even with all the undead passing through, searching for the one with a Great Soul said to live far, far away in a lost kingdom past this forest, they had yet to clear every enemy, or even some of the enemies, or organize a force that wasn't harassed into extinction by the armies of Arbiters seeking to cleanse this land, which, at a glance, spoke of a history of evil that far predated the undead who dwelled there now.

The greatest monument to death and carnage, however, stood before her, across the unsteady bridge taking her to the highest point. It was, from the outside, a looming coliseum of dark, ground stones encompassing the entire mountaintop before her, twisted, abstract metal sculptures hanging from immense iron chains borne aloft by a set of cranes and pulleys above the roofline.

The local undead called it the undead purgatory, though it seemed something befitting hell itself, even Umbri getting chills as the presence it exuded from its perch above the rest of the forest readied down towards her. It was no place for the weak, or for the self-righteous Arbiters and their "holy" doctrines, it was a place where the sick and depraved found a permanent home amongst their brothers and sisters.

Even Umbri wondered if she would be privy to join such an order, or if she would leave with all her faculties and appendages intact when she went in, but, they spoke of a dark flame, a chaos flame within, that their master had achieved through decades of carnage, and that the purgatory was a crucible where the weak were effaced, and the strong could gather innumerable souls in battle, in phantom form when they couldn't be injured, leaving no risk of death or losing souls.

Though it lacked the elegance of the Pilgrims of Dark, long extinct until she had begun her journey, this was where she would regain all the souls she lost, and infinitely more, where she would grow strong for her quest.

She stepped through the threshold of the fortress, walking into a long, winding chamber that seemed to circle the fortress, making a ring, the windows beyond showing her a gargantuan courtyard, multiple tiers of arenas throughout the center, even on upper levels and bridges.

Despite her impression of the place being brooding and dead, there was activity everywhere in the dim, dusty corridor. Undead, men and woman, were everywhere, packing the chamber wall to wall, going all the way down and around, scattered belongings and bedsheets spread everywhere, the place completely drowned with chatter and noise as they discussed their latest battles, flirted, or even made simple small-talk.

Aside from the corridor, scattered bones, scratches on the walls, and the treads of some savage wheels marking a great monster that once rode these halls, she could hear multiple tiers of the six-story building all buzzing with activity of all types while the courtyard filled with red phantoms doing battle to thunderous audiences, the den of vice glowing with sin. It set her at ease, Umbri wondering if joining would be easier than she thought.

As she wound around the corridor, a few catcalled to her, as she expected, but a few also leered at her, Umbri sensing their hostility to outsiders. There were many powerful enemies that would be overjoyed to see the place brought down, so Umbri could sense that one wrong move and death would be the least of her concerns.

As she traveled down, she passed a set of stairs, leading to higher up in the building, Umbri following then up, towards the top. At the highest floor, the noise died down, ceasing, telling her this was not a place for idle chatter and fun, as the rest of the place was. She searched around, until she spotted him:

She was not sure what the master of the Brotherhood of Blood would be like, though visions of a towering monster of a man graced her mind. Instead, he was diminutive, only half her size, with small arms, small legs, and a partly emaciated core.

He wore a one-piece black robe, tied at the middle, with some pale tan fur around the collar, the legs of a spider replacing an elegant cape. His head was obscured by a pointed, drooping hat, shredded at the base just enough to allow him to look out into his personal sanctum, the statues of the blood god along the wall, his mouth, a small, cat-like grin coated with dust and dirt peaking below the fabric.

He was nowhere near what Grandahl was: an auger of raw, unbridled power and wisdom, yet there was no mistake the small figure, named Titchy Gren by passing rumors, was a monster worthy of leading the brotherhood, the hellish black scythe at his back dripping with darkness and blood, his aura so malign without needing any special forces beyond his own bloodlust it terrified her.

As if to testify his rite of Nahr Alma, his shadow was extended by the great, looming painting of blood over the wall behind him, his own small fingermarks all around, where he painted with the blood of his enemies, a crescent of gently burning candles setting his form alight.

Umbri approached him, the ceremonial hood shifting towards her, indicating she had caught his attention. Much like Grandahl, he seemed to look right into her, determining her worthiness on a fundamental level. His smile widened, a deep, low voice echoing from his tiny chest:

"Ooh, welcome, welcome. Do you have a lust for blood?" Umbri tried to put on her best face, kneeling down before him to sit at eye level:

"Yes, I want the blood of my enemies."

"Then you will need blood. Lots of it. Undead blood. Like your own." With every word he seemed to get more giddy, his breath drawing short with ecstasy, "But it's not as easy as you think! Well, what'dya say? Join the Brotherhood of Blood?" Umbri felt right at home by him, nodding:

"Yes." His smirk wavered, before a low, biting laugh shook him,

"Hmm... Only ever one word answers from you, isn't it." He paused, "I want to hear what you really think. You want more than just a little blood. You want to be drenched in it, mired in its foul stench. Am I right? Am I? Oh just say that I'm right..." He cackled, barely containing himself. The dark monarch saw so much in him, what she wanted to be, getting roused to the core. He would be the one to take her fighting skills far beyond, his men would be her brothers and sisters, and they would all spill the blood of the unfit. She wouldn't need to wile and deceive to get what she wanted.

Umbri leaned him, kissing him on the cheek, a tremor going through his body.

"Yes, I want that."

"I knew it. I knew it." he laughed, "Fantastic! You're the best. Now you are a servant of Nahr Alma. This Crest of Blood is yours." He drew his hand along the wall, the blood coagulating, reshaping, until it transformed in his palm: a gnarled, silver ring with a bright red crest upon it, depicting a chalice of blood.

Umbri took the object, feeling no special power form it, yet it seemed to rouse her primal instincts, as if holding it augmented her savagery, her killer instincts. Putting it on with a shaky hand, the rough silver digging into her hand as she pressed it on, she felt stronger, wild, untamed. Her craving for power became distinct: she wanted more than simple power, she wanted to exercise it. She wanted blood.

"There!" Titchy Gren exclaimed, "Another servant of blood is born! You will serve well, I just know you will!" Umbri admired her new piece, the line between the influence of the covenant and her own will blurred, yet she knew the craving for excellence in battle was all hers.

"Yes, I will."

* * *

><p>Aura: Nothing in particular, just some regular travel wear the undead scraped up for her.<p>

Vance: Drangleic armor, Drangleic Shield, Longsword

The Brother of Blood: Northwarder set, Durgo's Hat, Ice Rapier, Parry Dagger, Dark Enhancement.


End file.
